


Let Them Eat Cake

by Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Season/Series 03, birthday smuttening, just suggestively eating, no food smut, there should always be cake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 05:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13804419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: Phryne and Jack have a deep appreciation for the decadent chocolate confections her butler creates.





	Let Them Eat Cake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts).



> This is a little late, but it's for Fire_Sign's birthday. I hope it your day was wonderful, and though I understand there was no cake, I hope that lack will be remedied in the near future. Happy, happy birthday, my friend - I'm so glad you were born!

Phryne froze, fork partway to her lips, her eyes on Jack. The noise he’d just made was positively indecent, and it sent moisture rushing to the flesh between her thighs. His eyes were closed as he chewed, his fork hovering halfway between his mouth and the enormous slice of Mr. Butler’s decadent chocolate-raspberry torte that sat on his plate. 

Admittedly, the dessert was delicious—raspberry jam oozed from between the four layers of the cake, and the chocolate whipped cream and ganache that covered the cake practically melted in the mouth. Phryne had been known to make similar noises when eating it, it was true. But as much as she admired Jack’s appetite, she would never have anticipated the way he had moaned, low and deep, the sound vibrating in his chest.

Just remembering it, Phryne shifted in her seat. It was an explicitly sexual noise, and she could imagine him making it as he used his mouth to devour her or as he came, shuddering against her body. She had heard him make that noise in both of those situations, and her body reacted in a Pavlovian response, readying itself for him.

Belatedly, she slid the bite of cake on her fork into her mouth, enjoying the silkiness of the ganache and the sweet bite of the raspberries—Mr. Butler really was exceptionally talented in the kitchen. She kept silent, despite her enjoyment, watching Jack and hoping that he would make that sound again.

“Mr. Butler, this is exquisite,” he said, loud enough for the man to hear him, though Mr. B had discreetly removed himself to the kitchen. Jack cut another bite, then glanced at Phryne. “Are you all right?”

“Of course, Jack,” _damn high-pitched voice_ , “I’m just enjoying the torte. You should have another bite.”

Jack tilted his head at her in that way that said he knew she was hiding something, and Phryne’s nipples hardened in a rush. She hid her reaction behind a smile, lifting the glass of port that Mr. Butler had served alongside the cake to take a sip.

The explosion of flavor that hit her as the cake and the fortified wine joined forces to attack her taste buds surprised her, and she couldn’t hold back a moan of her own, her eyes fluttering. Distantly, she saw Jack stiffen as if he’d been poked; his eyes widened and a flush touched his cheekbones.

 _Good,_ Phryne thought, recognizing the response for the arousal it was, _we’re both of us affected._

Jack swallowed hard, lifting another bite of cake to his mouth. Once again, it appeared that the flavors were intense enough that he couldn’t keep his eyes open as he chewed, and Phryne remembered the first time he’d kissed her, that day in Cafe Replique. He’d meant it as a distraction, but his eyes had closed as his mouth touched hers, and she’d been unable to resist sliding her tongue between his lips. Her own eyelids had fallen, shutting out her sight the better to taste him, and she’d nearly forgotten that her own personal devil was expected at any moment. Such was the magic of Jack’s kisses, even then.

Of course, afterward, she’d convinced herself that she’d imagined that feeling. That he couldn’t have been that different than the other men she’d managed to kiss. But then he’d kissed her again, at the airfield, and it had been all she could do to keep her wits about her. And when he’d met her in Istanbul as she’d hurried home, the kisses they’d shared had kept them blinded for days.

Jack moaned again, snapping Phryne out of her reverie with another burst of arousal. “Mr. Butler has truly outdone himself this time,” he said, his voice taking on the deep, dark timbre that she’d learned to expect from him in the throes of passion. She shivered. 

“Agreed. I think he’s angling for a well-deserved pay raise,” Phryne murmured, taking another bite of her own. She couldn’t help but notice Jack’s eyes on her, and she deliberately prolonged the physical act of eating, closing her mouth around the fork’s tines with a hum of pleasure, then slowly sliding it out from between closed lips. Jack’s eyes went heavy-lidded; she wondered if he was as aroused as she, and fought the urge to hurry through this fantastic dessert to get to her real treat.

They lingered for ten minutes, alternating bites of chocolate cake and watching the other’s reaction to its flavors. Finally, when Jack was scraping the last remnants from his plate with the side of his fork, Phryne decided she’d had enough.

“Here,” she said, taking up the last bite—Jack-sized, and larger than one she would have cut for herself—and holding her fork out to him.

He held her eyes as he allowed her to feed him. She had a flash of the first time she’d held a fork to his lips—gratin, eaten sitting at his desk over photos of Charlie Freeman’s indiscretions—and she wished, not for the first time, that she’d been able to simply slide into his lap then.

“Delicious,” he murmured, licking his lips. 

“Jack,” she whispered, “do you want a nightcap?” Her body was on fire with lust, and she really would rather head directly up to her boudoir. She thought he might be feeling the same way, but she would observe the niceties if he needed to.

“Only if we take it upstairs,” he rumbled. “For afterward.” He pushed away from the table, and Phryne could see by the tenting of his trousers that he was very definitely not unmoved by the game they’d been playing. He held out a hand to her, tilting his head.

A smile tugged at her lips as she slid her fingers across his palm to stroke the thin skin of his wrist before she grasped his hand. He took a deep breath in through his nose, his jaw working as he exercised his control. _That jaw._ The sight sent another pulse to Phryne’s sex, her thighs clenching together, and she knew that her knickers were soaked with the wanting of him.

Standing slowly, she deliberately stepped into him, pressing her breasts to his chest, wishing that he’d get in the habit of removing his waistcoat in addition to his jacket—really, the man wore far too many clothes over that magnificent body.

“Come on, then, Jack,” she said, putting a suggestive snap on his name. “Let’s get the whiskey… for afterward.” Turning without releasing his hand, she moved toward the dining room doorway. “Good night, Mr. B! That was magnificent, as always!”

“Good night, miss, inspector. I’m very pleased you enjoyed it,” came the man’s calm voice from the kitchen. _Bless him._ “I’ll just clear away and I’ll be retiring myself. Sleep well.” 

Was that humor Phryne heard in his voice? He was obviously aware of the effect that cake was having on them, but it hardly mattered. Ravishing Jack Robinson was one of her favorite things to do, and she’d take every opportunity to indulge in it.

Hands entwined, they made a quick detour to the parlor, where Phryne took up two tumblers one-handed and Jack wrapped his long fingers around the neck of the whiskey decanter. Then, properly supplied, they moved up the staircase.

Over time, Phryne’s boudoir had become their bedroom, with Jack’s books and clothing slowly making their way onto her tables and into her closet. She had purchased a larger chest of drawers with enough room for her own lingerie and his underthings, and the scent of French perfume that lingered in the room’s air had been joined by sandalwood and citrus in a combination that had come to mean _home_ to her senses.

Sweeping into the room, she set the glasses on the bedside table and Jack placed the whiskey beside them before pulling her to him with a hand on her jaw. His kiss was urgent, and he released her hand to slide his arm around her waist; Phryne pressed close, her hands beginning the immediate unbuttoning of his waistcoat and shirt even as her mouth opened under his to allow his tongue inside. Jack dropped his hand to her bottom, urging her against him, and she thrilled to the press of his cock—long and hard—against the softness of her belly. Wrapping her hands around his braces, Phryne lifted one leg, opening herself up to the full thrust of his body at the juncture of her thighs. 

Jack groaned deep in his chest, and the hand on her face fell to cover her breast through the layers of her silk camisole and blouse. His thumb stroked her nipple as he palmed the soft curve, and it was Phryne’s turn to moan.

Tilting her head to press her forehead to his, Phryne gasped, “Please, Jack.”

He nodded and stepped back to strip off first his waistcoat, then his shirt. Relieved that he understood, Phryne did the same, pulling at her clothes and tossing them toward the chaise lounge by the bedroom door. One hand on the mattress, she slid off her shoes, tossing them to the corner where they tilted together in drunken companionship as she removed her stockings.

When she was naked, she made to turn back to Jack to take up where they’d left off, but he forestalled the movement. He wrapped himself around her from behind, his hands snaking up to cover her breasts and his warm skin pressing against her back; she shivered at the heat of his breath along the curve of her neck. His cock slid into the slickness that coated her thighs, lying horizontally across her sex, and Phryne whimpered, her hands grasping for whatever parts of him she could reach, one finding his hip to pull him closer and the other threading into his dark hair. Turning her head toward him, she met his mouth with her own, his name gusting from her lips to be swallowed by his kiss.

Jack’s hips began to move against her, and Phryne adjusted her stance to give him just enough room to slip back and forth across her nether lips. With each press forward, the head of his cock dragged across the sensitive skin of her hood; with each withdrawal, she hoped that it would find its way inside, craving the pressure and the fullness he gave her.

One hand continuing to squeeze and pinch her breast and nipple, Jack slid his other down to burrow between her legs, his fingers searching for her clit. Phryne cried out when he found it, her hand clenching in his hair as he began to work it. He slid two fingers between her labia to open it and move his cock closer, where it began to pump in earnest, the moisture leaking from her body clicking with its passage. 

Dropping his mouth to her neck, Jack fucked her thighs and Phryne began to chant, “God, Jack, fuck, yes, Jack, yes…” 

She came with a small scream, her climax rippling through her in a release of tension that started between her legs and shimmered to all corners of her body, her muscles locking. Her eyes, wide open, were blinded by the pleasure that rocketed through her.

When she came back to herself, it was to find that Jack had shifted a hand to the back of her neck; he pushed her forward, bending her at the waist, and Phryne set her elbows on the edge of the bed. Jack used one foot to nudge hers apart, and then she felt the smooth crown of his cock at her entrance. With one slow thrust, Jack impaled her, the thick length of him stretching her tissues and demanding a place inside her body. 

Phryne heard him moan, the same moan he’d made at the dinner table, and she smiled—that really was one of her favorite sounds. Stretching out her arms, she took fistfuls of the doona, anchoring herself as Jack began to move within her, his hands sliding warmly down her back to grip her hips. She loved it when Jack took her this way—she felt fuller, somehow, and the angle was such that his rounded head rubbed the front wall of her passage more urgently. Sometimes, in this position, she’d come so hard that her body fountained with moisture, and she knew that he loved it when she did.

The sounds and smells of sex rose in the room—flesh slapping flesh; words of lust and praise murmured in that deep, dark voice; and the odors of musk and sweat wrapping around them both. Phryne lay, her arms outstretched, her breasts pressed against warm velvet, a willing vessel as Jack pistoned his hips against her. Her whole world shrunk to the point where his cock split her, the slide of his flesh within her a welcome focus for the climax that had begun, again, to build.

Phryne could tell when Jack’s orgasm drew near—he began to pause between every third or fourth stroke to hold himself deep within her, grinding his hips against her clit. She knew that if she could see him, she’d see his jaw working with the effort of holding back until she could join him, and she smiled, serene. When he truly came close, he’d cup his hand beneath his cock to use his fingers on her clit from behind. The juxtaposition of texture between his calloused fingers and the taut roundness of his balls would send her over in a matter of moments, she knew.

This time, when his hand touched her, he leaned forward to press his lips to her spine, licking and sucking at the skin of her back as he slowly pumped himself within her and massaged her slick pleasure point. Phryne bent one knee to give him more room, her hands clenching against the coverlet with the need to come. Jack’s fingers on her clit began a two-fingered strum, and his kisses on her side became the scrape of his teeth—and that sent her over, more strongly than she’d anticipated. 

Phryne called his name, long and drawn out, as her body clenched, her internal muscles squeezing at his cock as he continued to thrust. Jack moved within her once and then twice, before pulling out with a curse; she felt the warm ropes of his release stripe her back, his thighs pressed tight to hers and one of his hands holding her hips still. The other hand was likely holding himself, a sight that Phryne was sad to miss. Maybe she could coax him into doing that again later.

Jack shifted a hand to catch himself against the mattress as he sagged against her, his softening cock coming to rest on her bottom, a welcome weight, almost sweet now that its purpose had been discharged. Phryne’s grip on the doona relaxed, her fingers stretching wide to release the tension of their grip. 

After a moment, Jack laid a soft kiss on her shoulder blade and moved away; she lay still, listening to the water running in the attached bath, and then he was back with a damp cloth to clean her up. His hand stroked down her damp back as he finished, his fingers trailing off her side as he headed back to the bath. Smiling, she rolled to her feet to pull the covers down, then paused to slide open the drawer of her nightstand and withdraw her family planning device. It couldn’t hurt to be prepared for another round. When he came back from the bathroom, she handed him a whiskey from where she sat in the bed.

“Thank you, love,” he murmured, moving to sit close beside her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders.

Phryne nestled close to his chest, delighting as always in the crinkly texture of his body hair against her skin. 

“I think that we should probably ban that cake when dining in company,” he mused, laughter threading through his voice. He stroked his fingers along her arm, and Phryne shivered.

“I suppose that depends on what kind of party it is,” Phryne replied tartly, looking up at him with a sly smile. 

Jack laughed out loud at that. “It probably wouldn’t have the same effect, anyway,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It was the sex noises you made that gave me grief.”

“ _My_ sex noises? You _moaned_ , Jack—the same sound that you made tonight when you bent me over this very bed.” Her amused exasperation was unfeigned. He probably hadn’t even registered the noise he’d made—he truly enjoyed food, and it wasn’t uncommon for that enjoyment to turn Phryne into a veritable puddle of lust.

Jack’s fingers on her arm stilled momentarily, then began to move again. “Did I? I had no idea.” He sipped his whiskey, then lowered the glass. “And did that affect you, Miss Fisher?” 

“Far more than I would ever admit, inspector.” Phryne turned her head to meet his smile. Lifting her whiskey, she took the last swallow, then turned to place her glass on the bedside table. “Finish your drink, Jack,” she said, turning back to him, her hand disappearing below the coverlet to wrap around his cock, already half-hard. “I’m not sure I’m over that cake yet.”

With a lift of his eyebrows, Jack obeyed, swallowing the last bit of his whiskey and stretching his arm to set the glass aside without disturbing the motions of her fingers. 

“Just let me know what I can do to assist you, Miss Fisher,” he rumbled.

“I do like it when you let me direct you, darling,” she murmured.

“It’s always to my benefit,” he acknowledged, his breaths beginning to speed up from her ministrations. “Far be it from me to deny you any pleasure at all.”

“Now that sounds promising, Jack Robinson,” she purred, sliding down his body to blow hot breath over the sensitive head of his cock. “I am certain that I can work with that.”

“Happy to oblige,” he said, and then neither of them spoke for a good long time.


End file.
